


Prey

by imdex



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Briarheart, F/M, Inspired by Fanfiction, Knifeplay, Marking, Sadism, Size Difference, Size Kink, Smut, Thalmor, mine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 07:42:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11122809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imdex/pseuds/imdex
Summary: I would always be his. He was the monster and I was the prey.





	1. Collision

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read Briarheart by Amethyst97Skye you should do so immediately. As in click off this inspired-by-that-amazing-story-piece of try and go read that instead because it is W O N D E R F U L. 
> 
> As usual this is smutty and as usual, it has been sitting on my One Note for a good while now. Set back before he was turned into a vampire and is portrayed as a Thalmor agent. 
> 
>  
> 
> ~~I shamelessly love Vingalmo~~

It had been an accident. 

In my hurry I had collided with him, unaware of who he was, or-what-he was. 

I had gasped and hasty string of apologies ensued as I dropped to my knees and began to pick up the books and scrolls that had fallen from his arms. Faintly, I heard the people around me pause with gasps though my heart hammering away in my ears thankfully blocked out the stunned silence. 

My face burned hot under their stares. 

I didn't realize why they all found my lack of attention and the trouble it had caused so interesting…

…until gilded gold glinted blindingly off the rays of the sun against the sea of black it contained. 

My breath caught in my throat and I went stone still as a large, leather wrapped hand eased long fingers around the spine of a book out of my reach.

I tried to find my voice. I tried to think. I tried to remember how to breathe correctly as I, bravely and stupidly, looked up to see the face of the one that would surely send for my death by the nights end. 

He had smirked at me from beneath the pitch of his hood and my face went rosy beneath the brilliant gold of his stare. 

'Do be more careful, Breton.' 

So entranced and paralyzed under his gaze I hadn't realized he'd moved. 

When his hand brushed against my fingertips that held his other book in a trembling vice I had squeaked and the amusement, predatory, melted the gold within his iris's further.

I relinquished my hold of the book to him and with a final glance down at me as he stood tall, proud, arrogant, and intimidating. 

I felt as if I had given him much more.


	2. Unexpected

He had sent for me. 

Nearly asleep I had jumped at the firm knocking at my door and the warmth of the fire in the hearth suddenly vanished. 

It was as if the cold autumn air had been loosed within the shadows, stirred to life by the hand of the one outside my little home, sent in to lick at my flesh and claw its way up my spine. 

On numb feet I had closed the distance, each step accentuated by the wild dance of my heart within the cage of my ribs. 

The lock was harder to pull from its place. 

My strength had been stolen from me and my throat had tightened worryingly. 

The rapidness of the slide when it finally gave beneath my trembling hands made me jump back and I stumbled, grabbing wildly for the chair behind me as the door pushed inward. 

I had expected soldiers, perhaps a few. 

I hadn't expected him. 

Alone.


	3. Perfection

His lips had found my lost voice. 

His teeth had taught it to cry out louder for him. 

His tongue soothed what his teeth had demanded. 

His hands revived the heat the chill had taken away. 

His fingertips lead my flesh along in a dance so sinful that I had thought-once or twice- he was the devil.

It was surprising, embarrassingly so, how easily I fell prey to him. 

His voice was arrogant sophistication, rough around the edges, taunting and demanding against the back of my neck. 

His body, his voice, his touch, everything he was, forced my submission through the following hours. 

My cries and my pleas were the perfect symphony to him. 

Less and less he'd desire them and more and more he'd demand one phrase and one alone as he'd drag me through agony only to release me into torrents of ecstasy. 

'Scream for me, little dove.'

And I did until my voice was hoarse and the tears had dried on my cheeks.


	4. Yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. 
> 
> I know it's not super but it's something. I feel guilty right now over a few other stories that need to be worked on and I haven't had time to do anything. Please, honestly, if you liked this even a little I ask that you leave a kudo. It would mean so much to me. Like, a crazy amount. It's almost sad. 
> 
> Thank you for reading.

I never bared my body to anyone but him after that night. 

He took perverse joy in the way his very presence turned me back into a blushing, stammering fool. 

None of the townspeople were none the wiser. 

They suspected my behavior to stem from fear. 

A good part of my heart held a healthy ration of that emotion. 

Everything about him was danger, destruction, the perfect killing machine. 

His hands, though soft from the protection of his gloves, were no different than a bear trap. 

His honeyed words were nothing but bitter poison that dripped from his tongue as his façade portrayed a gentle smile while his eyes burned at the wounds left from them. 

What compelled me to continue to return to his side I would never understand. 

All I knew was the pain, the bruises decorating my flesh in dark blotches, the itch from the tears that had dried to my face and neck, and the sting from his dagger as he'd chuckle and drag the cold blade harder against my writhing body. 

'Your blood is so lovely, little dove.' he crooned against my neck . 

Some part of me took joy in his pleased observations to the damage he'd inflict. 

'If I were a monster I'd be apt to drain you dry.' 

I had cried out as his palm drug ruthlessly against the cuts across my upper back. 

He had used my life source to coat himself before he gave a throaty sound and took me without mercy. 

His voice cut through the fog in my mind like the sharp edge of his dagger. 

'Who do you belong to?'

'Y-You!'

One hand curled against my hip, the other around my shoulder. 

The ropes that bound my wrists high above my head burned my skin as he pulled me back and down to meet his brutal thrusts. 

His thumbnail caught the line of the E left below my right shoulder and I cried out. 

'Who. Do. You. Belong. To.'

I would always be his. He was the monster and I was the prey. 

'You, Master Vingalmo!'


End file.
